Saga of Blót
by Tartanroyaltea
Summary: Loki and Astrid first met as children, their unlikely friendship bound by their remarkable gifts for seiðr and a shared penchant for mischief. As the Norns weave the passing years of Yggdrasil, the pair find their relationship threatened by war, loss, jealousy, marriage, and cruel ambition.
1. Prologue

Well, this is my new story, and I'm very excited! Although I read Loki fanfic voraciously, I've only dabbled in one-shots and short stories up until now, but I am very much planning for this to be a saga of the epic (re: long) sort, so buckle in!

Ratings and tags etc. will change as the story progresses, but for now, I don't wish to give away too many details.

I hope you enjoy this little taster of a Prologue!

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Prologue

 _Year 2149 in the reign of Odin Allfather, Protector of the Nine Realms._

The first time they met, Astrid was doing something her mother had counselled her not to.

Astrid was just a smidge over 500 years old, and still very much a child, so she tried to listen to her sweet mother's advice as much as possible.

Unfortunately, her magic didn't appreciate being told what to do by _anyone_. Least of all Astrid.

Seiðr was not unknown among the nobility, in fact, many of the learned people at the Mannaðrskáli argued that every Æsir possessed some degree of magic, even if they were never truly aware of it. Only mortals had no magical capabilities.

From speaking to her mother, Astrid knew that her grandfather had been gifted with a strong amount of seiðr, but his destiny had been to be a war general, and seiðr was frowned upon in the manly art of battle. To avoid the label of argr, he suppressed his magic and let it fade away as his life marched on.

Astrid wasn't going to let _her_ seiðr fade away. She loved feeling special. The only problem was, as her mother explained, Astrid was perhaps a touch _too_ special. None of the great sorcerers at the Mannaðrskáli appreciated being outdone by a mere chit of a child. When she had broken through her first tutor's protective shield and levitated him across the rooftops of the Capitol, word got around that she was unnaturally powerful, and her mother couldn't find her another tutor for Hel nor nigh water.

Astrid's magic, unconcerned with trivialities such as education and control, continued to strengthen with every passing decade, and it was fast demonstrating that it had a mind of its own. Her parents were concerned, but Astrid knew that, for all the trouble it liked to cause, her seiðr wasn't purposefully malicious, like that of some sorcerers in the chronicles. Her magic had more of a sense of humour, she liked to think. Unfortunately, it also had the strange, somewhat twisted sense of humour of its possessor, who had a peculiar fondness for watching people fall over and embarrass themselves.

She had snuck away from her mother's side to wander the vastness of the Royal Palace while her parents and other nobles drank and discussed boring adult things. Astrid had stumbled upon a servant with a pail of water almost immediately, and her seiðr flared to life. Darting into an alcove, she observed the servant as he passed; he looked of middling age and had a permanent frown on his brow. Perfect.

Astrid waited several seconds, then let the seiðr burst forth. The bucket defied any notion of gravity and suddenly spun upward in the man's hand, emptying onto the golden floor. The servant let out a cry of shock, and promptly slipped in the water and landed on his rear.

Astrid doubled over with laughter, trying to stifle her giggles. The man was uninjured, but he checked furtively around the hallway, as if expecting an audience. He pulled himself up and surveyed the mess on the floor, rolling his eyes. Astrid watched him walk away with the now empty bucket, feeling in far better spirits.

"That was childish," remarked a voice behind her.

Astrid almost jumped out of her skin. The hallway had been empty but for her and the servant. She hadn't heard any footsteps. She whirled round, expecting a scolding, only to find a young boy watching her with undisguised interest.

The boy looked to be around her age, although he was much taller and slimmer. His hair was raven black and glossy, and his skin was bone-white. His clothes were well-tailored and made in expensive fabrics; he was obviously of noble birth. No doubt his parents were also schmoozing at Court today, and he was as bored as she.

Astrid narrowed her eyes at the boy. "I _am_ a child," she replied, slowly, as if speaking to a dolt. "And so are you, unless you are a dwarf-man."

The boy blinked at her a moment, his wide green eyes guileless. Then he laughed. "I'm not a dwarf. I'm even taller than my elder brother."

Astrid didn't know what to say to that. It was rare that she found herself tongue-tied. The boy continued to look at her with interest, his eyes lingering on her distinctive copper-coloured hair. Most Æsir had hair some shade of silver or gold, so red tones were a rarity. Black was unheard of. She wondered if the boy was half-Vanir, or perhaps-

"I've heard of you," the boy said, suddenly, his eyes widening with recognition.

Astrid tilted her chin up, a sign of bravery she didn't actually feel.

"Oh, yes?"

"You're the girl who levitated her vískenna across the city. I would've liked to have seen that. Bjorn was my tutor, once. He's a clot," the boy continued flippantly, unfazed by her prickly attitude. He grinned mischievously as he recalled her infamy, showing a set of white, even teeth and dimples. Astrid felt her cheeks glow pink.

"Well _I_ don't know who _you_ are," she said, loudly and obnoxiously. The boy grinned even wider.

"Yes, you do. Everyone knows who I am," the boy informed her, proudly. "I'm Prince Loki, son of Odin."

Astrid stopped mid-eye roll. _Prince Loki?!_ She stared at the boy in shock. He continued to grin, enjoying her reaction. Astrid had glimpsed King Odin and Queen Frigga once at a festival, when she was very young. She had only seen them from a distance, and remembered that they were the epitome of Æsir: tall, golden and powerful. She had assumed the Princes would look just like their parents, but this boy was like a changeling. Still, she found herself believing him; he had a confidence and alertness that belied his years, a result of growing up knowing you have the very best of everything and that everyone around you is eager to do your bidding.

She was speaking to a member of the Royal Family, _and_ she had insulted him! What would Mother say?

Blushing even more furiously than before, Astrid reluctantly forced her knees to bend into a shallow curtsy. Prince Loki just watched her with amusement.

"You're not very good at curtsying," he remarked, cheekily, and she longed to hit his stupid face.

"I'm still learning etiquette," she replied, sulkily. She _hated_ etiquette lessons, she much preferred learning to ride her new horse, Hester . "I'm too young to be at Court, anyway."

"I can tell that you're still learning etiquette, you haven't even told me your name yet," he pointed out.

She glowered at him. "My name is Astrid Ǫrvardottir…uh, my prince." From the way Prince Loki smiled at that, she swore she'd never call him it again.

"So Astrid Ǫrvardottir, you have seiðr," he said, suddenly serious.

"Um…yes."

"Is that all you can do?" Prince Loki enquired, gesturing to the mess on the floor. Astrid felt her ears burn reddish.

"I can move objects, if that's what you mean. My mother tried to find me another tutor after Bjorn, but she said none would take me," Astrid explained, surprising herself in her desire to tell this to the Prince. She never knew whether to be ashamed or proud of what she had done to Bjorn. It had been an accident, really. He was so snooty and arrogant, her seiðr couldn't resist teaching _him_ a lesson. "Do you have seiðr, too?" she asked, suddenly realising that his interest in her was unusual.

Prince Loki grinned and waved his left hand in the direction of the puddle on the floor. Green light poured from his palm, and then the water disappeared between the blink of one eye and the next. Astrid gasped, staring at the spot where it had been.

" _How_ did you _do_ that?" she breathed, unable to hide the wonder in her voice. Prince Loki simply grinned, and glanced back to where the water had been. Astrid's jaw almost fell from her head as she watched a small, purple flower bloom from the marble floor in a swirl of green light. _She_ could ever do that; even being around already-existing plants was dangerous for her. They often went up in gold flames.

" _How_ did you _do_ that?" she repeated, quite intent on getting an answer this time. She wanted to be able to make flowers grow from nothing.

Prince Loki strolled over to the flower and plucked it from the floor. Astrid was shocked to realise it was corporeal. She had thought it an illusion.

"My mother taught me. She's the greatest sorceress in the World Tree, but she says I'm going to overtake her someday. Soon," Prince Loki said, unable to hide the pride in his voice. Astrid forgave him his arrogance. He was truly gifted.

"Would she teach me?" Astrid blurted out, without really considering what it was she was asking. Prince Loki's 'mother' was Frigga, the Queen of Asgard, after all. Astrid was only the daughter of a middling nobleman.

To his credit, Prince Loki didn't scorn her for her insolence. Instead, he looked thoughtful.

"I don't know about that. She's very busy, you see, and she couldn't tutor us together because I'm much more advanced…" She longed to hit him again. "…but _I_ could teach you."

"You? Teach _me_?" She thought he was rather presumptuous, even for a Prince. He was only a child, like her, not a trained vískenna.

"Yes, why not? I know all the groundwork of practicing seiðr, and it would help me to strengthen the basics as I advance further. This plan aids us both," he explained, not deterred by the doubt in her tone.

"I…well, would we be allowed?" She asked, feeling a little foolish. She liked Prince Loki's plan, but she couldn't be sure if her parents would agree. Her father did work in the palace, though, so she would never be too far away from him.

Prince Loki shrugged. "I know I'll be allowed to. As to you, I can't say. But even if your parents tell you 'no', we can do it anyway. They don't have to know." A suggestion of mischief streaked across his delicate features at the thought of such subterfuge.

"They might notice if I disappear every day!"

"We won't have lessons every day. Practicing seiðr is exhausting, especially in the beginning. I'll be amazed if you manage a couple of hours each week."

Astrid glowered at the Prince, sensing that she was being called a weakling and a coward. She was too young and guileless to understand the art of manipulation.

"I say we meet at every moonshift, when the evenstar has risen," she declared, no longer concerned with getting her parent's permission.

"That's twice a week," Prince Loki pointed out, with a sly smile.

"I can handle it."

"Very well. We'll meet in the Lily Garden. I shall see you in two days, Astrid Ǫrvardottir," Prince Loki said, suddenly sounding very formal. He bowed slightly, handing the purple flower to Astrid, and disappeared before she could say a word.

She gripped the fine stem of the flower, feeling the pulses of the Prince's seiðr echoing through it. She stared at the spot where Prince Loki had vanished, mystified by what he could do.

"I'll be just as skilled as he…soon," she promised herself under her breath.

Astrid hurried back to the Great Hall, sure that her mother would have missed her. She stood obediently by her parents for the rest of the afternoon, contentedly twirling the flower between her fingers and looking forward to her first lesson with Prince Loki.


	2. Einn

_Year 2667 in the reign of Odin Allfather, Protector of the Nine Realms._

"Astrid, where _have_ you been?" her mother scolded, as she charged into the villa in the midst of dinner. Her father stared at her with disapproval, but she merely smiled and kissed the web of lines on his forehead and he immediately softened.

The servants pulled out Astrid's chair, positioned between her parents, and placed a steaming trencher of food before her.

"Sorry, we lost track of time," Astrid said gaily, unsheathing her eating knife and energetically poking at her dinner. She was soaring on the crest of an excellent mood; for the first time, she had managed to introduce corporality to one of her illusions. Admittedly, it had taken her almost a century to do so, but as Loki had pointed out: 'better late than not at all.' He had said this with his usual dose of wry humour, but Astrid could tell by the set of his mouth that he was suppressing a smug smile. After all, the pupil is always a reflection on the teacher, and Loki was training her in the most difficult types of magic in existence.

Wrapped in her happy reverie, Astrid missed the look that passed between her parents.

Her mother, Sigrid Vikardottir, was one of the most courteous, graceful noblewomen in Asgard, and she hesitated to introduce a topic of conversation that was…less than _delicate_ , particularly at the dinner table. The problem was, she and her husband rarely saw their daughter except at dinner-time, an ironclad rule she had enforced when Astrid began spending the majority of her time at the palace with her 'tutor', Prince Loki.

"My love, I was speaking with Haldís Olafdottir today," Sigrid began, watching her daughter carefully. Astrid was wolfing down her dinner like a starved creature, barely focussing on her mother's words. Sigrid darted another glance at Ǫrvar. He gave her a firm nod, encouraging her to proceed.

"Haldís informed me that…well, there have been some rumours, circulating at the palace-"

"No doubt started by her, the nosey old gossip," Astrid piped up, rolling her eyes.

"Be that as it may, it appears that you and Prince Loki have become a new feature of court gossip," interjected her father, losing patience with his wife's timidity. It was indelicate for a father to speak of such things with his daughter, but by the Norns, he would get the truth of the situation.

Astrid blinked at him with wide, dark blue eyes, perfectly unfazed. "And? What concern is of mine if old nitwits and lackeys wish to discuss us?"

Her parents shared another look. "My love, they are suggesting that your relationship with Prince Loki…goes beyond that of mere friendship," explained Sigrid, her brow wrinkling with concern at the mere thought. She knew very well that the younger sort didn't care for the virtue of chastity, but she feared her daughter becoming entangled –body and heart- with Prince Loki, for he was a man she could never hope to marry. A Prince of the Realm Eternal would never be free to bestow his heart where he pleased.

Astrid immediately snorted with laughter, oblivious to the concerns of her parents. "What nonsense! It is merely because I am a woman, and he a man. If we were both men, they would say naught of us wrestling half-clothed and washing together, for all that Loki cares not about the gender of his conquests-"

"That is enough, Astrid," her father said, decisively, noticing the puce hue of his wife's skin. Discussing the sexuality of the Second Prince really was a tad too salty for dinner, he felt.

"Father, truly, there is no merit to these rumours. Loki is my best friend, nothing more," she argued, looking at him imploringly. Ǫrvar grunted in defeat, as ever won over by the wide, doe-eyed gaze of his beloved daughter.

"Too often he is the one who leads you into mischief," he noted, turning back to his dinner, a signal that the conversation was over.

Astrid smirked, recalling the centuries of misadventures she and Loki had enjoyed. For the first few hundred, their mischief and magic had been contained within Asgard itself, tormenting vískennas, soldiers and servants alike, but then Loki had 'stumbled across' a series of flexible pathways between worlds, and their scope had expanded. Their first port of visit had been Midgard, a place legendary in the Æsir chronicles for the credulity and weakness of its inhabitants. The pair had not harmed any mortals, not in the physical sense, but they had certainly enjoyed themselves watching the Midgardians react in terror at the things they conjured: talking cats, clouds that spewed insects and multi-coloured flames that burned on water.

They had snuck off to Midgard weekly for several months, feeling quite the adventurers, before it had all turned horribly wrong. It seemed that the old stories were true: Midgardians didn't possess seiðr, but they were always on the look-out for those who did. Astrid and Loki, naturally, cloaked themselves from sight, and the blame for their magical 'mischief' fell upon a group of mortal women in one of the Northern towns they had visited. On a return trip, they saw the women's blackened corpses hanging from the trees, and, realising their guilt, had ceased performing magic.

Unfortunately, Heimdall had been watching their progress for several weeks; although able to turn a blind eye to harmless, youthful trickery, the death of the mortal women technically violated Odin's oath to protect Midgard from the malice of other realms- Asgard included.

Loki and Astrid had been hauled in front of the Allfather on their return. Loki took all of the blame, and Astrid had merely to deal with a scolding from her mortified parents. Loki, however, was sent to live as a refugee in the Midgardian town for a half-year, without magic. It seemed a harsh punishment for someone barely out of boyhood, but Odin would not show leniency, even to his own son. The punishment had served to teach both Loki and Astrid a lesson, for while she remained comfortable in Asgard, she was tormented with worry for her best friend for the entirety of his banishment.

The pair travelled to Midgard many more times, but they were forever careful with their magic, merely doctoring and improving existing landmarks and natural phenomena. It was clear that the humans were not quite ready for unexplained happenings.

"Astrid, are you listening?" Ǫrvar enquired, exasperated by his daughter's perpetual habit of drifting off into daydreams. If Astrid wasn't riding or practicing seiðr with Prince Loki, she was bored.

The guilty look on her face said it all. "Sorry, Father," she said, gulping down another mouthful of her dinner.

"You know that I depart for Jötunheim on the morn," he reminded her, crisply, ignoring the grimace that immediately tarnished her pretty features. Sigrid shifted in her seat, anxiety rolling off her in waves. Ǫrvar did not relish the thought of travelling to the barbaric land of Asgard's greatest foes, either, but Laufey, king of the savages, had recently been weakened in battle against Niflheimr, and Odin was eager to scout out pockets of rebellion while the Jötun king's indomitable power wavered. As one of the longest-serving military leaders in the Realm Eternal, known and respected for his calm nature and disciplinary attitude, Ǫrvar had been personally selected by the King to lead the mission. Mercifully, the Crown Prince's desires to join the expedition had been shot down by the Allfather immediately. Ǫrvar liked Prince Thor well enough, but he was a rash, rowdy boy, and he wouldn't survive a single day in the frozen wastelands of Jötunheim.

"While I am gone, I want you to behave, and not place any additional stress on your mother. That means no frolicking off to Midgard or Muspelheim or any other realm with Prince Loki. Understood?" He continued, impressing upon his daughter the seriousness of his request. Sigrid always worked herself into a lather if Astrid did not return for dinner, and it was always his job to sooth her worries, a job he could not carry out while in another realm. Sigrid was the love of his immortal life, but she had a delicate, perhaps even overly-sensitive, nature, and Ǫrvar knew just how much his journey to Jötunheim terrified her, for all that she had attempted to appear supportive. Astrid would have to be her mother's crutch, distracting her from fretting over her husband.

Astrid sighed theatrically, but agreed. "Yes, father."

"Do not look so downcast, elska. I will only be gone for forty days. Surely you can keep out of mischief for that long?" Ǫrvar teased, amused by the solemn look on her young face. Astrid grinned slyly at him; they both knew that mischief followed Astrid everywhere she went.

"Let's go to Midgard-"

"Loki, _no_! I told you, I promised my father I wouldn't travel between realms while he was away," Astrid argued, for the _hundredth_ time that week. Her father had scarcely departed before Loki was pestering her, eager to re-tread their well-worn paths through the realms.

He lounged on a divan before her now, rolling his eyes to the high ceiling of his chambers.

"Given that we _never_ travel to Jötunheim, he is unlikely to know where we have been," Loki pointed out, not deterred in the least by her numerous refusals. She would give in, eventually. He only had to find the correct words to coax her into misbehaving, and then Astrid tended to give him a run for his money in the mischief department.

"That is not the point, and you well know it. I made my father a promise, and I'm not going to break it simply because you insist on whining like a child," she retorted, tartly. Loki narrowed his eyes at her insult, but where many would quail at the least hint of his displeasure, Astrid merely stuck her tongue out at him.

"Speaking of being 'like a child'!" He teased, grinning when she pulled a ghastly face and dropped onto the divan opposite.

"Give it a rest, will you?" She said, flinging an arm over her eyes. The humour in her voice sounded weak, and Loki realised with a jolt that the reason for her determination to keep her promise was rooted in fear, a fear that her father wouldn't return.

"Let's ride out to the hot springs, then. A good gallop through the grasslands should keep me amused…for now," Loki said, jumping energetically to his feet and calling for a servant to prepare their horses. Astrid groaned half-heartedly, but Loki knew that visiting the hot springs was one of her favourite activities, guaranteed to give her a reprieve from her worries. And hopefully after, she'd reconsider a clandestine trip to Midgard.

The pair spilled out of the Palace stables on their tall warhorses, each racing for the West gates of the citadel and unmindful of the startled citizens leaping out of their paths. They reached the gates at the same moment, their horses neck in neck, both cheering and hailing their own victory as they slowed to a more sensible speed for following the narrow path that swept up a mountain ridge before plunging into the valley below. Their second race began at the edge of the Marglóð Sjór, a wide expanse of golden grass that would have reached the average Asgardian's waist if they walked through it. Loki and Astrid's horses had no trouble on the terrain, each flattening a distinctive trail under their lacquered hooves as they galloped across the open fields. Loki glanced across at Astrid, pleased to note the wide smile that graced her features as their steeds charged on at a momentous pace, cognisant of exactly where their riders wished to go.

The hot springs at the edge of the Marglóð Sjór were a well-kept secret, with thanks to a few cunning spells on Loki's behalf, to ensure they remained invisible to passers-by and other _undesirables_ , namely Thor and his band of idiotic warriors. The springs had been Loki's discovery, and the only person he had chosen to share them with was currently dismounting her horse, loosening its saddle and turning it out to graze. Loki unleased his own steed, Dýrr, surreptitiously watching from the corner of his eye as Astrid began loosening the stays of her corselet, freeing herself of the restrictions of Court decorum.

When they were children, they had each stripped down to their breaches, rolled up to their spindly knees, wading into water, mud and anything they could find out on their country adventures. But with their maturity came newfound expectations, and when Astrid was finally forced into wearing a gown at all times bar training, each had discreetly been pulled aside and warned by their mothers of the necessity of keeping their clothes on. Loki couldn't help but feel that this requirement was rather…unfortunate.

Astrid slipped off her riding boots, settling comfortably by the water's edge and skimming the surface of the clear water with her toes, her skirts hitched up enough to show off her slim ankles and toned calves.

Loki grinned, unable to resist the temptation. Seconds later, Astrid's feet recoiled from the water, her voice rising in a pleasant shriek.

" _Loki!_ You absolute monster, you know I feel wary enough about putting my feet in water after what happened on Midgard!" she whined, glaring at him with indignation. Loki only laughed louder, remembering their visit to the ensorcelled lake where a suspiciously Asgardian water-serpent resided in the gloomy depths. Loki had always insisted it was nothing of his doing, but Astrid didn't believe a word of it. She leant over the water, gently lifting the moss-green snake from the spring and placing it on the grass beside her.

" _Behave,_ " she insisted, addressing both man and snake. As expected, the snake merely flicked its little tongue at her, and the man smirked devilishly.

"But I do so love to hear you make that delightful shrieking noise," Loki remarked, saucily, strolling over to take a seat beside her. Astrid always had the exact same reaction when he suggested anything with the merest hint of innuendo: she would tut and roll her eyes with much enthusiasm, but a faint blush would appear across her cheeks, revealing her _true_ reaction. Loki appreciated little things like that, little tells which made people as easy to read as books. He had no intention of manipulating Astrid like he manipulated the multitude at Court, and even his own family, but still he wished to read her, to know what she was truly thinking and feeling at any given moment. It was not strategy, merely curiosity, fascination. The more Loki watched Astrid's reactions to bawdy talk (and occasionally bawdy actions- Spring feasts could become downright _animalistic_ when the fires around the halls burned low), the more he became convinced that his friend had not known the intimate touch of a lover. And he could not understand why. Although still young by Æsir standards, he himself had had the pleasure of many bedfellows. Indeed, he could no longer recall the exact number. It was good to be a prince, even if only the 'spare', as Volstagg had once charmingly phrased it.

Certainly, Astrid was rather shy, sweetly so, around most people she did not know, yet Loki knew well that this was a trait generally preferred by the men of Asgard, ever keen to speak of themselves to an enraptured audience. Although not from one of the premier noble families in the land, she lived a comfortable life, and her father and grandfather before him were noted Generals. On this basis alone, Astrid was a desirable girl, but when one also considered her beauty, and the sharpness of her wit, it was rather surprising that she was not already betrothed.

Not that Loki was complaining, he knew that a married woman would not be able to spend time with him so freely, and a reluctant part of him admitted that Astrid was fundamental to his happiness. At Court, among Thor and the Warriors Three, even with his Father, he felt ever an outcast; less popular, less revered, less loved. But Astrid shared in his mischief, appreciated his skills as a sorcerer, and never looked upon him as if he were a strange creature. Truly, she was his only constant friend.

"What?" Astrid snapped, watching him suspiciously. When Loki got that far-off look in his eye, it rarely meant any good for the person he was fixing it upon. "Have you conjured something on my face? I'll hit you, if you have," she threatened, not really meaning it. She had never been the violent type, much to the disappointment of her combat trainer, and the delight of her mother, who felt that 'ladies' with an affinity for battle were unnatural, a reverse of ergi.

Loki's eyes snapped back into focus, the corners crinkling with amusement. "As if I would _ever_ tamper with milady's face, 'tis already perfect," he simpered, in imitation of a palace servant seeking favour.

Astrid huffed and shot him a glare, turning to rest her back against a smooth pinkish rock, her feet now pointed towards him. "It was also 'perfect' without that boil you conjured, at the feast for Thor's nameday!"

After noticing Astrid flirting with that utter cad, Fandral, a slightly mead-happy Loki had decided to teach the pretty boy a lesson. Unfortunately, in his state of inebriation, it was Astrid who had found an angry red boil growing at an alarming rate on her chin. Still, it had the required effect; Fandral had scurried off with a timid excuse, and Astrid fled for the healing rooms. Loki hadn't ever begged so ardently for forgiveness in his life, as he did sitting by her side the next day, her skin blemish-free once again. Astrid had sulked for all of five minutes, enjoying his elaborate grovelling, before demanding that he _actually_ set the boil on Fandral this time, which he duly did. Curiously, this particular boil did not recede for many weeks, much to the fair-haired warrior's terror.

"'Twas a mistake, fuelled by mead, as well you know," Loki reminded her, waving a hand lazily to remove his own boots, the only concession he would make to comfort, even in a place as clandestine as this.

"And until that point, I had always been under the impression that you _never_ make mistakes, O Great and Wise One," Astrid teased, prodding his side with a wet foot. Loki grinned, shark-like, catching her slim ankle whippet-fast and holding it captive in the cage of his long, pale fingers. Astrid sat up immediately, muscles tensed.

"You give that back, I'm fond of it," she chided.

Loki only smiled wider, tracing circles around the bone of her ankle with his thumb. "But it was on my person."

"Well, it's _part_ of my person, so it belongs to me," Astrid retorted hotly, crossing her arms.

"You think so?" Loki countered, his long fingers threatening to tickle her.

"Loki, don't _even-_ " Her words were cut off by another delightful shriek, as Loki set to work tormenting her. She giggled, kicking out at him with her other foot, her laughter spurring on his own. It was so pleasant to act like children sometimes, now that they were oft expected to be so dull and sensibly mature.

When Loki caught her other foot, Astrid decided it was time to kiss her pride goodbye.

" _Stop!_ Mercy, mercy!" she cried, winded from laughing so hard.

"Ask nicely, and I'll consider it," Loki chided, grinning evilly at her.

"Fine! Please, Loki! Stop."

Loki sighed with mock disappointment, releasing her feet. "Very well."

Astrid immediately curled her feet beneath her, edging closer to the rocks. Loki laughed softly at the suspicious look on her face. At least he had been able to make her laugh.

"Thank you," Astrid said, softly.

"'Tis nothing. I realised it would hardly be of use to me," Loki responded, continuing their jest.

Astrid sighed, lying back against the rock and closing her eyes against the midday suns, savouring the heat of them warming her skin. "I am not thanking you for releasing _my_ foot," she said, finally.

Loki glanced to her, sceptically, and became quickly entranced by the gleam of her copper hair in the sunlight. "Then what are you thanking me for?

She cracked an eye open, looking at her oldest friend. "For taking my mind off Father."

"Evidently, I have not wholly succeeded," he pointed out, with an elegant shrug.

"It is preferable to staying at home with Mother. I know that Father wished me to spend more time with her, but she is so distraught, it is upsetting to be around her. It is a wonder she is even capable of embroidering, given how often her eyes are full to brimming with tears."

"She has not your warrior spirit." Astrid stuck her tongue out at him, sensing mockery.

"If it were a battle against the Jötnar, I do not think I would worry so," she mused, idly watching a troupe of shimmering dragonflies hovering mere feet from where she and Loki lay. "But he is negotiating with them, with rebels, anyway. They are so cunning a race, surely they will lull him with sweet pleas for aid before turning on him." It felt good to speak of her worries, to describe the depth of the panic which seized her any moment that she allowed her mind to wander. Certainly, she could not speak of this to her Mother.

"Your father is a smart man, much like his daughter," Loki said, tossing her a wink and earning a weak smile. "He will not be so easily duped by those savages. Besides, your concerns rest on a belief that he will have negotiated with the rebels at all: it may be that the contingent never cross any Jötun paths, and return unharmed."

"Father would never return without fulfilling the King's orders," Astrid replied glumly.

Loki knew not what to say. Silvertongue, he may be, but comforting was not exactly his strong suit.

"All will be well," Loki assured her.

"I hope you are right, Loki," she sighed.

Loki smirked and lay back on the grass, pale face tilted to the sunlight. "Do not be absurd, dear Astrid. I am always right."

The news came like a sharp blow, ensnaring Loki's previously waning interest in his brother's conversation.

"What did you say?" Loki snapped, sharply. Thor paused mid-sentence, his mouth hanging half open, blond brows quirked. _Ever attractive, brother. Little wonder the women drool over your visage and beg to warm your bed_ , muttered the snide voice in his head. It spoke most often these days, particularly when in company of Thor. Future King of Asgard and Protector of the Nine Realms. Ha.

"Brother?" Loki resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Truly, if Thor had forgotten the words that exited his own mouth only moments before, Loki would finally give up the millennia-long hope of finding a glimmer of intellect in his brother's abnormally large head.

"You spoke of Jötunheim. My mind had wandered elsewhere," Loki prompted, with tight patience. He and Thor customarily talked over a fire-pit and a cask of mead after a rough training session, and today was no different. Loki's bones ached, tired of being struck repeatedly by Thor's ham fists, and he lounged along the divan, cat-like, one hand casting small illusions in the orange flames as his mind drifted from his brother's inane babbling.

"Ah. Yes. I overheard Father speaking to Heimdall. It seems the negotiating party has disappeared-"

" _Disappeared?_ " Loki repeated, sitting bolt upright and fixing his intense stare on Thor, who found himself delighted by his now rapt audience.

"Indeed. Gone, vanished from Heimdall's view. It is most puzzling. Father himself could not spy them from Hliðskjálf …"

Loki's thoughts raced, muting Thor's voice once again. The negotiating party were in peril, there was no doubt what it meant if they had disappeared from view; someone, a powerful Jötun, had gotten to them. Loki did not like their odds of survival, after someone had evidently cast an enchantment to conceal them from the Realm Eternal… _Astrid's father._ Ǫrvar was the leader of the expedition, and if death was being meted out, he would be the Jötnar's primary target. Unease fluttered low in his gut, a prickling of dread running along his spine. Had he not assured Astrid of the group's safety, only the morning prior? Had he not promised her father's safety with sweet words and assurances, distracting her troubled mind these past weeks? But now, now the truth had made itself known. Soon it would be known by all. By Astrid.

"No," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He was mildly surprised to find himself standing, hands clenched into fists by his sides. Ready for action…ready for… what? Did he really intend to flee to Astrid's family home at this hour of the evening, uninvited, and call down a host of misery and grief on the unsuspecting women inside? No. No…too little was known. He was jumping at shadows, at his idiot brother's words, which were even less substantial than shadows.

"Indeed, brother! 'Tis a tragedy, to be sure, a host of great soldiers lost to the wastelands of that _place._ I warned Father of the foolishness of attempting to negotiate with monsters, they have no minds, no civilisation. How could they even understand negotiation?" Thor scoffed, quaffing another skein of mead, ever unaware of his siblings' mercurial moods.

 _Patience, bide your time…_ He would not strike terror in Astrid's heart ahead of time. It would be for naught, and whether it was truth or an unpleasant misunderstanding, a small part of Loki quelled at the notion of being the one to tell Astrid such dreadful news. For the rest of her days, she would look at his face, and remember the frantic news he had imparted to her, the shock, the unbearable pain that followed his words…

No. He would comfort Astrid, if it came to that, but he would not be the bearer of bad news. He wouldn't kill that sweetly affectionate look she often surreptitiously cast him for anything in the Realm. Not even the throne.

Some truths were best kept hidden.


End file.
